


In the water and the grey

by Sebastiona



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-27
Updated: 2012-04-27
Packaged: 2017-11-04 10:07:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/392635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sebastiona/pseuds/Sebastiona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Reichenbach. John imagines ghosts. Ghosts in real life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the water and the grey

Sometimes I'll see. Sometimes I'll open my eyes and see. 

A flutter. A breath of wind against the curtains. A slither of light reflected on my cheek. A sigh. A subtle sigh in my ear. The distant bird's wing soaring, emerging from the gust of wind outside my window. 

The autumn. I hear a snap. A snap against the wood. My bedroom door expands. Like breathing. Sighing inside and out. Like a shadow, an entity. My heart trying to reach me. The thunder of noise, the rage of life outside my four walls. Trying to get me. Trying to make me live. 

A fingertip. Tracing the freckles along the inches of my wrist to my elbow. Counting. I hear his tongue inside my head. I hear his breathlessness. I hear his voice calling my name. I hear mine calling his. Inside my head. I hear him vibrating through the walls. His whispers through the keyhole. His clutter and his mess and his soul and his laughter and his rage. His skin against mine.

I feel him. In the midnight and the darkness. In the water and the grey. In his armchair and his clothes and his books and his sheets. I feel his hands press against my hands. Sometimes. When he thinks I'm not thinking of him. When he feels like I've forgotten. And sometimes when he's right. And others when he's wrong.

I see. I open my eyes and see. And sometimes I see his echo. A vibration of an earlier time when he stood before the window, when he sat beside the fire, when he climbed the thirteen steps to our living room door. Sometimes he follows me. He likes it when I follow him. He waits for me at the front door and sometimes he holds it open for me.

I miss him. And when I do he shows me how to forget. Like he's never really left.


End file.
